Saturday, February 15, 2025
unshroud
Shrouding thoughts in cryptic poetry has historically been easier for me to express what's within my heart and mind, more so than the writing of the same truth plainly in prose. For me, poetry actually is the more direct approach, like the lancing of an abscess; a surgical one-two punch that drains the infection efficaciously. Otherwise, my psychic wounds fester within, and I feel lost; my heart puckers up and no words are let out at all. Prose such as this can't quite narrate the whole picture properly, and paradoxically what I write in prose seems to lack the same clarity.I only started really writing poetry when I became an adult. Before I received this gift, my innermost words ofren remained without form, going nowhere. I didn't quite know how to effectively confide in friends to share a burden or ease my pain, as if I was manufactured without this natural human ability to do so. When I became an adult, I started to counter this dysfunction and intentionally practised the habit of opening up to friends, but it never became a natural response, remaining as more of an awkward and uneasy discipline that needs proper upkeep, never quite belonging to my person completely.
These words here today in fact appear to me as a jumbled messy heap that lacks writing finesse, exposing the fact that I haven't been taking in literature through reading lately. I have tried my best to edit this, but I have conceded that I will need to try much, much harder to practise the discipline of baring my soul without the art of the parable or the comfort of abstract poetry.